Victors, AKA Survivors
by xXxIntoTheDarknessxXx
Summary: We were the survivors of the 50th and 74th annual Hunger Games. We were seam kids, once. Now, we are a messed up train wreck, complete with an ugly, angry cat. We mean nothing to no-one, except each other. Because there's really no-one else left to care. They're either dead, a runaway, or they've forgotten we exist. This is our life now. Post Mockingjay. Pre Epilogue.


Haymitch looks out for Peeta when I can't. He knows he's too busy looking out for me to look out for himself. He makes sure Peeta eats, and sleeps, takes care of himself. He takes Peeta's place on the lounge and sits with me, sober, and holds me while I go to pieces. Peeta holds me, lays with me while I sleep, so when I wake, screaming from a nightmare, he can soothe me back to sleep. When he falls asleep too, Haymitch throws a blanket over him before hitting the bottle. Despite the heating, it still gets to freezing point in District 12, every night. In turn, I take away the bottle, wrap a blanket around his shoulders when he passes out, and Peeta helps me clean up the mess before Haymitch sobers up in time for a morning "coffee" complete with half a flask of whiskey. Looking out for eachother is the only time of day we're put together, sober; when we push the nightmares, the flashbacks, the memories to the backs of our minds, even just for a moment or two.

We look out for eachother, because we love eachother, and because, if not for our house of living trainwrecks, we would have nobody else in the world. There's nobody left to care. Mom took her life after Primrose died; after Gale indirectly killed her. He took off to one of the career districts. He said he went to work, I say he went to forget. Peeta's family more or less tried to forget their ties to him, they lived on the other side of the district, still running the bakery, and spared barely so much as a letter every year. Those who worked at the Hob were all murdered, slaughtered publicly by the peacemakers. Most of the kids from the school had to work in the mines, the majority had lost at least one family member, and with the games no more, could not sign up for tesserae. So, with family to feed, most had no choice but to work.

And such was the result of a rebellion. A war. Everything except the victors village, the bakery, the apothecary, the school, and the mine was obliterated in the crossfire. It was a miracle that much had survived. Districts 4, 7, and 10 were booming. Fishing, lumber, and livestock proved quite lucrative for supply and demand for both work and food; and although pay was little and rations were not of very generous size, it was more than before. That was the one thing to come out of the new uprising that was good.

Once we realised we were all each other had left, which took all of 3 milliseconds we decided to move into one of our houses in the victors village, instead of living in seperate (and very spacious) houses. So, that's what we did. We look after each other, and Prim's cat, Buttercup, who sleeps inside, but spends days on his own, hunting for himself. For a moment, I smile as I gaze into the fire, once again glad I hadn't drowned him long ago. He brought so much happiness to Prim, and now, to me. A single tear rolls down my face as the other eye fills with tears too. But these are happy tears, something I haven't known since 4 years ago when I found out that while Prim was dead, Mom was alright. (Which lasted all of two months before her catatonic state became far worse than depression. She went out for a walk one day, didn't come back. Some hunters found her. "Nightlock" they said. They thought it a terrible accident. I knew better. She knew her plants as well as Dad did.)

Haymitch walked into the living room, sat next to me on the couch. 'You alright?' he asked.  
'Happy tears. I'm glad I didn't drown the cat.' Buttercup hisses at me from his place on the windowsill, jumps down, and paws away into the hallway and up the stairs. 'You're responsive again.' Haymitch pointed out. I was startled from my thoughts. 'Huh?' He laughs. 'Guess not.' 'I didn't realise I'd been out of it again. How long?' Haymitch looks at me in a silent refusal to 'Answer the damn question, Abernathy. How long?' I wasn't really angry at him, and he knew it. He grinned his almost non-existant grin at me. 'A while.' Usually it was just a few hours these days. Finally, at my glare, he relented. 'Pretty much all day.' So, it was bad then. 'Where's Peeta?' I asked, worried he'd had a flashback while I was out of it.

'He's asleep. He sat with you until I made him eat, and sleep. It's two in the morning. Be surprised I'm not drunk.' Haymitch quipped. 'I'm not. You don't drink as much anymore. I'm glad. Because as much I hate to admit this to anybody, you two and the cat are all I have, I need you.' Tears are falling a little faster now, I wipe them away with my hands but they are just as quickly replaced. Haymitch puts his arms around me pulls me close, stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head. 'Me, too, Kat, me too.' "Kat" is a nickname he came up with for me early on in his cut-back-on-the-booze idea. He still cuts down, he still calls me Kat. The consistence is something I crave. We need something constant in the aftermath of all this devestation. Something to hold onto. So, we have eachother. It is not much, in some ways, but for us, it is enough.


End file.
